Danse Macabre
by stella8h8chang
Summary: Follow Bellatrix step-by-step as she learns the Dance of Death from her first love, the Dark Lord. Partners in crime and partners in dance - how did it all begin? Find out, in the final chapter, what was going through Bella's mind during those last hours.
1. Baby Steps

_**A/N: Written for Syndic-Machiavelli **__**on the occasion of her birthday.Even though I'm writing in third person, I'm trying to capture a bit of what it's like to be a four-year-old with the style. I guess, for easiness, I've made Bella a bit precocious, although far more innocent than she ever has been shown before! Hopefully it's still believable!**_

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Chapter 1: Baby Steps

That man was always at her house. He was as thin as a lamp-post and as pale as one of Uncle Abraxas' peacocks. He always wore the most interesting things. Once he had come in wearing a huge gold oval locket with an "S" on it. Another time he had worn a shiny ring with a black stone. Sometimes his cloak was held together by a silver clasp in the shape of a snake.

Her mama and papa called him "Master Riddle", which was odd, because Bella thought he was their age. Papa had also instructed his three girls to do the same, although Bella was the only who could talk clearly. The three of them – Bella, Andy and Cissy – usually were hustled away into their bedroom shortly after guests arrived for dinner, but this time, Bella sneaked out and wandered downstairs. Master Riddle was not talking to anyone, so she went up to him. He was about three times her height, but she was not afraid.

"Hello Master Riddle," she said, bobbing a curtsey just like princesses did in stories.

He looked down at her. "And what might your name be?"

"Bellatrix, sir," she replied.

"Bellatrix? That's a beautiful name. Do you know what it means?"

Bella shook her head. She was beginning to feel slightly nervous, for he did not stoop to speak to her face like most grownups did. And now her neck was starting to hurt.

"It means 'warrior maiden'."

"What's…what's that?"

"A very powerful woman."

"Oh. I should like to be a very powerful woman one day."

But just then her mama scooped her up off the floor. "Bella! You naughty girl, what are you doing down here at this hour? Being a nuisance to this nice young man?"

Now that she was almost level with him, Bella could see his face more clearly. He had bright red eyes, long black hair and a funny little nose. She squirmed in her mama's grasp.

"No matter, Druella, she's no nuisance. She is a most engaging young lady!"

The Riddle man lifted Bella out of her mama's arms and sat down in an armchair by the fire.

"Where are your sisters?" he asked. "Narcissa and Andromeda?"

"In the nursery upstairs," she replied, curling up cosily on his lap.

"You don't play with them?"

"I don't. They're babies. Cissy can't walk and Andy can't talk. Both of them are still in _nappies_. You wouldn't want them on your lap. They might leak."

"And how old are you?"

"I'm four," she said proudly. "I'm a big girl now."

"Very right," he agreed. "Very soon you'll be going to Hogwarts."

Bella had heard about Hogwarts before. It was where young wizards and witches like herself went to learn magic. There was a cabinet in their house which had a few medals and trophies engraved with a big letter "H" surrounded by a badger, a snake, an eagle and a lion. Her mama had said that these were school prizes from Hogwarts. But apart from that, she didn't _really_ know much about Hogwarts. "I can do magic already," she said.

"Really? What can you do?"

"I can't do it all the time," she said, "but sometimes, when I'm mad, things happen. Dinner-plates explode, and flowers die, and people get set on fire."

He laughed. "Sometimes I do that too!"

He had a very high laugh for such a great big man. He stroked her hair, and she examined the clasp of his cloak at last. It was in the shape of a big silver snake. "You like it, don't you?" he quizzed her.

"It's pretty," she cooed.

"I have it because I'm a _descendant_ of Salazar Slytherin, who founded Hogwarts. That means," he caught her puzzled expression, "that he was like my great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather."

Bella yawned. "I'm tired," she announced. "It's been nice talking to you, Master Riddle, but I think I will go to bed now."

He kissed her hand. It made her squeal. He produced a toy tiara out of nowhere for her and bid he good-night. As she made her way back to her bedroom, she stopped for a moment to stand on tip-toes and peep into a mirror on the wall.

"The warrior maiden," she whispered to herself.


	2. Chassé

_**A/N: One very smart 7-year-old coming up! Am taking to be true that 5-year-old Fred could transfigure a toy broomstick into a spider. These kids can do intense magic, but they can't control it terribly well. Or in Bella's case, she can control it, but…you'll find out. Riddle here has gotten an upgrade from "master". "Chasse" I think means "Chase". You use it a fair bit in ice dance (squee!).  
**_

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Chapter 2: Chassé

Bella, Andy and Cissy were celebrating the first snow of the season by making a snowman in the front yard.

Suddenly, there was a popping noise. Five figures, clad in thick, black cloaks, appeared nearby, and went to the front door. Bella gave a gasp, as she thought she recognised the tallest among them. He was thinner, paler and more flat-faced than ever.

The front door opened. "My Lord! To what do we owe this honour?" they heard their mother say.

"Just business," said a crisp voice. "En route to Hogwarts, I thought I would pay a visit to some of my loyal friends."

Bella's ears pricked up at the word _Hogwarts_.

"It's Master Riddle!" she whispered to Andy, as the five men entered the house.

"Who?"

"Master Riddle!"

"Why do mama and papa call him 'Lord' then?"

"I don't know," said Bella, squashing the snow in her hands into a ball and throwing it at Cissy, before running to the nearest window.

"Bella!" cried Cissy.

Andy chased after her elder sister, who wasn't in the mood to listen to either of them.

"No! Bella!"

"Shh!" hissed Bella, clapping a hand over the younger girl's mouth.

Bella's eyes were now glued on the window to the lounge-room, and if she strained, she could catch some of the talking.

"My Lord," said her father. "We would dearly love to join you…"

Master Riddle raised his hand. "I know you have your children to attend to, the next generation of noble purebloods."

Bella clung to each of Riddle's words.

_Noble?_

She smiled.

_Purebloods?_

That word sounded very familiar. Her mother had mentioned it a few times over lessons in the library. It meant…Bella racked her brains. That your parents were a witch and a wizard.

Personally, Bella thought it was a useless word. If you weren't a muggle or squib, which was really a muggle anyway, you were a witch or a wizard, and your parents must have been a witch or a wizard anyway. Why did you need a special word for it? "Witch" was so much easier to say. Even Cissy, who was three, could talk about "witches" and "wizards" and "princesses", but something about the word "pureblood" sounded rather unfriendly.

_Maybe it was the "blood"__ in "pureblood"_, thought Bella. Even though she herself wasn't scared of blood, a mere nosebleed could make her sisters howl.

Eventually, the door opened, and one by one, the figures came out. You couldn't Disapparate inside the Black family home. Master Riddle lingered on the front doorstep, even after the four others had gone. He bowed low to Bella's parents.

"Your loyalty shall never be forgotten," he said, in his lovely, clear voice.

Bella needed no cues. As soon as he turned around, whirling his black cloak about, which made her gasp, she ran after him.

"Master – Master Riddle – my Lord!" she puffed.

"Yes?" he asked. He sounded a bit annoyed. Bella thought she'd better be quick.

"Look what I can do," she said.

And she sent a row of flames circling along the ground around them. His face softened a little. Dare she think – he looked impressed, perhaps?

"Who taught you?"

"Me," she said. "I just played around to see what I could do," she said proudly.

"What a precocious child you are," he said.

"What's 'precocious'?"

"Look it up in the dictionary," he said, with a twinge of something in his voice.

"Yes, sir," she said meekly, as the fire went out.

"You see," he pointed to the unmelted snow where the flames had been, "this fire of yours doesn't do anything – except look nice and green. What you really need to learn is how to make fire that burns, that consumes. Like this."

He waved his wand, and a gnome waddling through the snow gave a yelp as it burst into flames, then crumbled to ashes.

"Call me, when you can do that," he said.

"But…how?"

But he disappeared with a pop as she turned back to look at him.

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**_Thank you to Chaotic Veins, Syndic-Machiavelli and Cuban Sombrero Gal and the others who are watching! Please do review, so I can give you, my readers, proper credit!  
_**


	3. Split Jump

_**A/N: Fast forward a couple more years! In my head, Shakespeare is a closet wizard, so both magical and non-magical people can enjoy his works and **__**make Shakespearean references. It just seemed like the kind of thing Mrs Black might scare her daughters with, y'know, being a snob and all that jazz. Oh yes, and she addresses her daughters rather medievally, despite it being the '60s. I couldn't resist.  
**_

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Chapter 3: Split Jump

Three girls sat in the library under the watchful eye of their mother, who had taken it upon herself to educate Bella, Andy and Cissy before they went to Hogwarts. On this particular day, each of them had been given the task they hated the most. Bella had a page of very ugly mathematics, including long division, Andy was being forced to study basic wizarding history – you could never be too young to start learning history – and Cissy was being made to write a story.

There was the sound of a beak tapping against glass downstairs, which meant that an owl had arrived. Mrs Black rose to collect the letter, sweeping from the library.

"So," said Bella, adopting her mother's tone, thinking she could catch her sister out today, "Andromeda, what are the names of the five most recent Ministers for Magic?"

Andy, nine years old, began to confidently recite, "Faris Spavin, Elladora Black, Ares Applewood, Nobby Leach…" But then her voice faltered, as she screwed up her eyes, trying to recall the one name she could not tick off with her fingers.

"Stupid," Bella interrupted. "You forgot Tryphene Lestrange, who was Minister up until the year before last!"

"I was just getting to him," said Andy calmly.

"HER," her sister corrected. "Bet you you're going to Hufflepuff two years from now."

"Well, H comes before S. We're leaps ahead of you. Just like A comes before B. Besides, badgers eat snakes."

"THEY DO NOT!"

"Young ladies!" exclaimed their mother as she re-entered the room.

Once half a minute of silence, guilty looks and reproachful glares had passed, she spoke again. "Bella, you have a letter. Apologise to your sister, or you will be denied the privilege of opening it."

"Sorry, Andromeda" said Bella.

"Do you know what nasty young girls who scream and raise their voices like that are called?"

"No."

"They are called _shrews_."

"Oh."

"No man will marry a _shrew_ until they have been _tamed_. Do you understand now?"

"Yes," said Bella, thinking of the men she knew.

Her mother handed over the letter, and as soon as she saw the wax seal, with the great letter "H", her teeth flashed in a gleeful grin. After tearing apart the envelope greedily, she read the letter aloud.

_"Dear Miss Black__…W__e are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…"_

Bella put the letter flat on the table so that her sisters – particularly the awful Andromeda – could see everything clearly and jealously, from the handsome green ink to the crest at the top of the letter, which featured a badger, a lion, an eagle and a snake, all moving.

That night, Bella was re-reading her Hogwarts letter before Cissy cut in. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Go back to sleep, Cissy," snapped Bella. The tiny girl, her expression unchanged, obeyed.

"But what _are_ you doing?" whispered Andromeda, whose bed was in the middle, between Bella's and Cissy's.

Bella edged away from her silently, continuing to re-read. As the snake on the crest flicked its forked tongue at her, she smiled.

"The Dark Lord said he's a descendant of Salazar Slytherin," she said.

"Of course he is," said Andromeda. "All wizards are related to each other somehow. _We're_ probably related to him…"

Bella liked this idea very much. "I wish we were! How do you reckon we could find out? Maybe tomorrow we'll ask mother to show us some books on…"

"I didn't mean – HIM – I meant…but there's no way! Normal people – normal men – don't look like that!" spluttered her sister. "You're sick!"

Bella blinked at Andromeda. _She_ was the calm one now, and her sister was the screaming baby. "You're right, he's not a man. He's more than that." And while her sister's horrified eyes were fixed on her face, Bella slipped the letter under her pillow. "But do you know why I _really_ can't wait to go to Hogwarts?"

"It's the same reason _I_ can't wait for you to go to Hogwarts."

"Why, Andromeda," said Bella. "I think that's the smartest thing you've said today; I might even have to look upon your fat face again in two years' time, even if it is at the Hufflepuff table."

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**_An enormous thankyou to: Syndic-Machiavelli, Live4YourXDreams, WhiskeyTangoFoxtrot, tulpylak, Schermionie, Cuban Sombrero Gal, as well as the 4 other users who are watching this story!_**


	4. Developpé

_**A/N: Developpés are nifty ballet exercises at the barre. You lift/unfold your leg through a series of positions – hence the association with "developing". Everyone here is growing up quickly. It means that now I can write without having to take a child's perspective, so things ought to flow! This chapter echoes the first and second chapters a lot. **_

_**Inspired by WhiskeyTangoFoxtrot's astute comment that Mr and Mrs Black seemed rather stiff, formal parents.**_

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Chapter 4: Developpé

"Mother, do I have to?"

The sisters had been forced into almost-identical garb for the Annual Black Christmas Party. This meant velvet dress robes and thick, itchy stockings for Bella, even though she was now thirteen and considered herself grown out of the childish costume. It was very tight around certain areas of her developing figure. Having said that, it wasn't _she_ who was doing the complaining.

"Yes, Andromeda," sighed Mrs Black, inserting hairpins into Bella's wild black hair. For some years now, Bella's hair had refused to fit into neat pigtails without half a bottle of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion. As long as it was out of Bella's face, her mother had stopped caring, unlike in the case of her two younger daughters.

"I feel sorry for Regulus," whispered Cissy, who was nearly ten, and having her hair brushed and braided by Andromeda. "He's only a baby…"

"Oh stop whining, Cissy," said Bella, as a pin jabbed into her scalp. "There are important people coming tonight." She longed to scratch at the wretched woollen stockings which were irritating both her legs and her temper. But she knew that the smallest ladder in her stockings would get her grounded for the remainder of the Christmas holidays.

"Bella, I don't understand you," said Andromeda. "You accuse Cissy of being deaf and dumb, and then when she says anything, you tell her to shut up."

"Language, Andromeda!" scolded their mother. "Bella is right; there will be a lot of important people present tonight, ranging from young Rebecca Avery to the great Antonin Dolhov, come all the way from Russia, to the son of the former Minister for Magic, Lycurgus Lestrange himself…"

"What of the Dar…" Bella began, before being interrupted by Andromeda.

"Can I take my _Malecrit_ book with me?"

"What do you think?" scolded their mother. "Of course not. Your father and I would like you to make a good impression on our guests. You never know when good impressions can come in useful…"

Once all three girls had been dressed to her satisfaction, Mrs Black escorted them downstairs. "Remember, after dinner you will stay in the back room with all the other children. Do keep an eye on Sirius and Regulus – I promised your Aunt Walburga that they would be well-looked after."

At the children's table, Bella winced in her seat; she suspected her mother had plonked her between the two cousins to act as the babysitter. Thankfully, on Regulus' other side was Narcissa, and on Sirius' other side was Andromeda, where all the maternal instincts were. She rolled her eyes at the person across the table from her, a familiar-looking boy with brown hair and steel-blue eyes, sitting next to a girl who looked about Andromeda's age, and might have been his sister.

"Some dinner party, huh?" He had a casual air to his voice that put her a little more at ease. "I'm Slinkhard," he said, picking up that she couldn't recall his name. "I'm in your house…except…"

The puzzle pieces clicked into place. "Oh, of course! You're in fourth year!"

He nodded. "And this is my sister, Minnie. She's starting at Hogwarts next year."

"You mean…you've already got your letter?" Andromeda suddenly jerked away from Sirius.

"Of course not," said Minnie, smiling. "But I'm quite sure of myself. How about you? Have your parents taught you anything yet?"

"Well…" said Andromeda, beginning an extensive rant on how she had mastered levitation charms and simply couldn't wait to start basic Transfiguration.

Slinkhard turned to Bella again. "So how are you finding second year, with bugs and buttons?"

"You mean…transfiguring beetles into buttons?"

"That," he said, grinning. "Two years is evidently sufficient to erase all McGonagall-inflicted traumas from one's memories."

"I reckon McGonagall favours all her grimy little Gryffindors. What do you think?"

"Oh, of course – but that's only because dear old Slughorn is so very good to us."

As she watched him fling a few stray strands of hair out of his eyes, she nodded, patting the hairpin over her left ear to check it was still neatly in place. "So do you have any tips for getting through the next few years?"

He rested his chin on the backs of his fingers. "Hmmmm…beware the Mandrakes."

"The what?"

"You should be asking Phyllida Spore, not me," he teased. Spore was the author of _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_.

Bella's jaw was starting to hurt a bit from the non-stop smiling, but she simply couldn't stop. She also desperately wished her collar wasn't so high, stiff and starched, and that she'd worn her necklace with the silver stars. She wasn't going to let it show though, as they continued to converse.

"What's your favourite subject?"

"Defence against the Dark Arts."

"Is it true that teachers change every year?"

"It's true, I'm afraid. But I'm mainly self-taught anyhow. If you want, I could tutor you…"

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**_Praise and thanks be to: Aphoride, Cuban Sombrero Gal, Darkhorselover22, JoSchmo666, Schermionie, Syndic-Machiavelli, WhiskeyTangoFoxtrot, dahliax, lyssy31 and twilightatdawn who have "Danse Macabre" on alert!  
_**


	5. Turn Out

**_A/N: When you do ballet, you spend ages trying to learn the proper "turn-out" of your hips, and that's kind of what this chapter refers to. Bellatrix is very much an adolescent, which means in some ways she's quite grown-up, but in other ways she lacks experience. Here we hear more about Slinkhard, the author of Umbridge's favourite book. Inflamed feelings flicker back and forth and eventually are extinguished._  
**

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Turn-out

Though it was a quiet night in the third-year girls' dorms, Bella found that she could not sleep, and padded lightly downstairs to the Slytherin common room in the hope that some mild commotion might have the opposite effect. But all she found was Wilbert Slinkhard, now a popular fifth-year prefect, crouched close to the fireplace, speaking to it in a low voice.

"The turn-out was phenomenal, Aunt Rebecca" he said. "I thought the Dark Lord…"

Upon hearing the name, Bella promptly forgot the final step, tripped and to her mortification, almost fell flat on her face. Slinkhard paused briefly, ensuring that he had recognised her before he finished his sentence.

"…only contacted the Slytherin prefects, but some fourth-years were there too, and he must have individually owled a handful from Ravenclaw."

Although Bella wouldn't admit it to anyone, she privately thought Slinkhard was one of the better-looking Slytherin boys. Moreover, he could match any of the Ravenclaws when it came to magic in nearly any subject. And whenever, wherever he opened his mouth, people _listened._ Come to think of it, it was this power, this _careless confidence_, which drew her to him the most.

But whenever she tried to reason why he would as much as notice her, reality descended up on her senses. Like…now…?

"I have to go. I'll speak to you tomorrow night…" There was a popping sound, and the boy straightened up from the fireplace. "Bella, you should be asleep…"

"I want to know what you were talking about, _Slinkhard_," she said, letting him know she wasn't a child anymore – for heaven's sake, she was _thirteen_. She might have only been a third year, but she was much surer of herself than any of her peers. Bella wasn't plagued by any of the stuttering or blushing that happened to people like her cousin Kelvin whenever he was around Euphemia Rookwood. Or to her friend Rita, who never stood a chance, whenever she came within a metre of Slinkhard himself.

Confidently she faced him and said, "You were speaking to Rebecca _Avery_, weren't you? One of the _Death Eaters_ currently residing in _my parents' house_…"

"I know," said the boy, coming up to her. "That's why I haven't…" he grabbed the collar of her pyjamas, "…grabbed you like this, and threatened you with _this_…" he waved a detention slip in her face, "…if you dare speak of this matter to anyone."

Although this was Slytherin House, Slinkhard was usually a quiet, words-speak-louder-than-actions kind of boy. This sudden change might have thrown her off balance completely, but they were now so close that neither of them could breathe easily. Bella could see the flecks of blue and grey in his eyes, the light spatter of freckles across his pale nose and the bulge of his upper lip. She found herself wondering what it would feel like if the space between them completely disappeared, and what his skin might feel like.

Unfortunately, her parents had made it clear to her that they were going to take a medieval stance on potential paramours. _No young man is worth any more than the blood that runs through his veins._

So she brushed the thoughts away, repeating her question. "What were you talking about? The Dark Lord contacting you…what a great honour…"

In recent months, the Black family house had become one of the strongholds of the Death Eaters; although Druella and Cygnus were not quite as paranoid as Walburga and Orion, there was a substantial amount of evasive magic on that block of land. Cissy had uncomplainingly moved into Number 12 Grimmauld Place, with Aunt Walburga, Uncle Orion, and the girls' two cousins, Sirius and Regulus. Andy had bemoaned the fact she had to spend her first holiday from school at school. But Bella had never been prouder of her parents, opening their doors to the most infamous inhabitants of the wizarding world. Rebecca Avery. Claudius Gibbon. Lycurgus Lestrange. Antonin Dolohov. Walden Macnair. Thomas Nott. Glenn Mulciber.

"He's recruiting," said Slinkhard, as he bit his lip.

Bella wondered why his voice was so flat, and why he was so unenthusiastic. "Recruiting? You don't mean, Hogwarts students?"

"Yes."

"Like you," said Bella. "Like you and me…"

"Yes," said Slinkhard. The monosyllables were most unlike him. She was liking this new Slinkhard less and less.

"But how can we do anything, we're under seventeen, we've got the Trace on us, the Ministry would be on us…?"

"They can arrange for it to be lifted."

"That's…that's…_wicked_…" said Bella breathlessly. There was hope yet.

"I suppose it is."

"Can I come to your next…" she fumbled for a word. "Gathering?"

"I think he's only looking for OWL-level students."

"Oh." Her face fell, but then brightened as she began to conjure up possibilities. "You'll have to tell me all about them, then. Whatever you do – is it just meeting and learning…" she whispered with glee, "…_dark magic_?"

"No."

She cursed herself for being so thoughtless; of course these things would have to happen in secret.

"I'm not going," said Slinkhard, now walking away from her towards his own dormitory.

"Why not?" asked Bella, running after him and looking him in the eye.

"Simply because I'm not getting myself involved – I'm going to take the same stance as Sirius' and Regulus' parents," he said, pushing her roughly aside. "I don't plan on taking a side in this…_he_ might have the right idea, but…"

"B-but – you can't!" Her heart thumped in her throat. _Not Slinkhard._ Slinkhard was a leader, not a coward. Slinkhard was…

"Can't what?" He was already up a few steps before he turned to face her. "Listen – kid – I'm not saying I'm siding with the mudbloods, but…"

That did it. "You can't…if you're not with us, that means you're…" She couldn't bring herself to say it out loud, but she knew he was _against everything she believed in and no one was worth that_.

And that was how, Bella would boast later, she'd quickly gotten over her "first love". And Severus would compare how he had cured his affliction for Lily Evans just as swiftly.


	6. En Pointe

_**A/N: I honestly apologise for raising the rating, but Bella was really outgrowing it. This chapter, though slightly spooky, will be less disturbing if you don't read too much into it. Hope you don't hate it; it's one of my favourites. Voldie's true colours begin to show. "En pointe" refers to going up onto the tips of your toes in "pointe shoes". Roddie is a year younger than Bella because I see her marrying someone **__**to dominate**** (she is **__**dominated**** by Voldie anyway). And a shout-out to all Latin nerds: shall we conjugate, or will you decline?**_

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Chapter 6: En Pointe

Having been made a Slytherin prefect along with Kelvin Rosier, Bella had been given access to the special prefects' bathroom on the fifth floor. She passed the statue of Boris the Bewildered, a lost-looking wizard with his gloves on the wrong hands, stopped at the fourth door to the left of it, leaned close and muttered "_lavo, lavare, lavi, lautum_."

The door creaked open, to show off a giant room of white marble featuring a candle-lit chandelier and an enormous rectangular bath, about as deep as she was tall, with a hundred golden taps lining the edges, each with a slightly different coloured gemstone set into its handle.

She turned around to bolt the door, then removed her shoes so that she could enjoy the pleasantly smouldering under-floor heating, and at last headed across the room towards the large pile of fluffy towels below the window.

"Hello, Bella."

The long curtains were swept aside. His face and hands were whiter than the linen before him. The black pupils of his eyes had disappeared, although his black hair still shone luxuriously.

Bella's hand jumped to the dark mess on top of her own head, and her eyes bulged out in shock. "Have you – how long have you been here? Invisible?"

"No, Bella, I only just arrived."

She'd been rude to him unnecessarily, but this was a most peculiar sensation. She'd never felt more bare in her life. Firstly, she could easily have taken her pyjamas off before getting the towel, and secondly, the way those ruby-red eyes were boring into her own…

"You don't need to be afraid; there's nothing you can hide, there's nothing I can't know."

Perhaps it wasn't that unpleasant, Bella thought. In fact, it was comforting…the presence of an omnipresent, omniscient, omnipotent…

She relaxed, and said, "And there's nothing you can't do."

He smiled broadly with his thin lips. "Well, there is one thing – perhaps two – you could do for me. I plan to hold a meeting in Hogsmeade next weekend…"

"I'll be there," said Bella.

If the Dark Lord felt any annoyance in being interrupted, her enthusiasm dispelled it. "…I not only wish you to be present, but to assist me in summoning a number of other capable students."

"From Slytherin? The Crouch twins are smart. Perhaps not Rita though. I suppose Kelvin has told you all about the boys – Greengrass would be a good choice? Have you thought about the Ravenclaws? You could try Igor Karkaroff – he's brilliant. Don't go anywhere near Lee, the other Ravenclaw prefect, she's a mudblood."

He made some sound of disgust in the back of his throat, but he nodded.

Sensing his satisfaction with her, Bella dared to ask him, "Please…may I know how you found me…?"

"You were recommended, I believe, by Rabastan Lestrange," he said, his voice rich and syrupy. "And of course, your parents, whose generosity knows no limits. Know that I always hold their opinions in the highest esteem."

"Yes, my lord."

She had not called him that in years, but the words tasted delicious on her tongue.

"May I also ask who else was referred to you?" It was partly out of curiosity, and partly to do with finding out her competition.

"You and Kelvin Rosier - I believe he is your cousin apart from being your fellow Slytherin prefect - have been informed of the meeting. Are there any others, younger than yourself, whom you want to recommend in turn?"

She thought she'd do the Lestranges a favour by seconding their second son. "Rabastan has a younger brother called Rodolphus…amazing at Charms. Avery, Malfoy and Goyle are two years my junior. And she's only in first year - but you want to watch her - Casey Jugson - they're all talking about her. Half-blood, yes, but with incredible talent - apparently she is tutoring second-years in her House, and she's in Ravenclaw…"

"What of your sisters?"

"I assumed my mother would have given you a run-down of their _talents_."

She spat the last word a little unthinkingly, but at the moment she was basking in her own glory, and did not feel like sharing it. Andromeda was far from an idiot when it came to subjects like Transfiguration; Bella could not risk being outshone. And conversely, she did not want the Dark Lord to think of his latest protégé as stupid, silent, silly and unobservant as Narcissa. Or worse, as dishonest and disloyal as Wilbert Slinkhard.

"I want to hear it from _you_," he said. He sat down on the edge of the great bath and motioned for her to do the same. _His _last word, in contrast to _hers_, made her hostility melt away, as she poised herself barely inches from him.

"Well – I'll start with Narcissa, because she's the baby, she's only twelve. And she's a pretty darling. But never been particularly concerned with _magic_. When we were growing up, she was always playing quietly with her dolls. She's ever so fond of our cousins though, particularly little Regulus. She dotes on him. You know, I know that she's going to make an excellent mother and housewife one day."

"And?"

"And Andromeda…we've never been close."

"And why is that?"

"We're _completely_ different. She's in Ravenclaw, for one thing."

"True, but remember, Claudius Gibbon was in Ravenclaw, and he thinks very much like you and I do."

She took a deep breath and began to ramble. "But…there are different kinds of Ravenclaws. Mr Gibbon excels at the practical side of magic. My middle sister, however, is well on the path to becoming a magical theorist. Bright, but all books. All words…and no action."

"Good girl," he said, putting his hand on her shoulder. "That is what you need to do better at. Getting straight – to – the – point."

A little tremor went down her spine as he emphasized every word. But again, with a regal whirl of his cloak, he had gone. Well, to be more accurate, he had leapt out of the window and was now flying through the night sky.

Bella realised she hadn't yet taken her bath.

The novelty of the bubble bath never failed to cleanse Bella's mind; there was the rainbow tap, which sent out a stream of differently coloured bubbles, there was the pearly tap, which sent out foam the colour and consistency of icebergs, and there was the green tap that sent heavily perfumed steam spiralling and hovering over the water's surface.

The sound of running water had awakened the pretty blonde mermaid, who usually slept in her gold frame, or perhaps the Dark Lord had just lifted a binding charm off her. "Got a boy on your mind, I guess, eh?" the portrait asked.

"None of your business," answered Bella rudely. Rude questions from people like that deserved rude answers.

She turned her back on the mermaid, pulled her nightdress over her head and plunged into the bathtub. Drunk on the scented clouds and the euphoria of success, Bella pressed back against the hard, smooth marble and breathed deeply.

* * *

**_Thank you to HiddenDepths-x, Nulinya, respitechristopher, ShadowMoonDancer, WhiskeyTangoFoxtrot, Syndic-Machiavelli and Cuban Sombrero Girl for commenting on the last chapter!_**


	7. Attitude

_**A/N: Attitude croisée is a pretty ballet pose and it's also a name of a figure skating spin position. This chapter ties up loose ends in my other fics, where I cover Rita and Bella's close friendship in their early years. Rita cares more about Bella than Bella cares to hear, and we find out that Bella has some serious misunderstandings. As JKR says, with young love, we "fill in the blanks in the beloved's personality with the virtues we would like them to have".**_

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Chapter 7: Attitude

"I don't understand it. You'd bend over backwards…"

"…or forwards…"

"…both ways for _him_!" exclaimed Rita, whose annoyance was now being aggravated by the interruption. Once upon a time, this finishing-off others' sentences had been something they had laughed about, cross-legged in the Slytherin girls' dormitory.

But today, Bella had been contentedly sitting beneath the shadiest tree in their front yard when Rita had shown up with a pop. Rita had not had very much to do in the aftermath of the NEWTs and leaving Hogwarts, in contrast to Bella, who had been out virtually every night to meetings of the Inner Circle, of which she was the youngest member. Not wanting to divulge any more details of her life to her former schoolmate, Bella had reached up with both her arms, grasping the branch above her head, preparing to bend her knees and swing her legs over and out of the way. But Rita had cried out, _"Hey, Bella, you can talk about anything you want today, but I just want to talk to you!"_ and plopped herself on one of the tree's twisted roots.

So at the moment, Bella was poised in that uncomfortable position, having a rather heated discussion with a nosy girl who desperately wanted to revive the friendship that had faded in the post-OWL years now that "_academic competitiveness was no longer an issue_".

Bella now sighed. "That's what you do when you love someone."

The words had slipped out of her mouth before she had realised it.

Rita's eyes grew wide, and her screeching voice displayed nothing but horror. "You love…_HIM?_ Bella, he's twenty-four years older than you!"

Well, to be entirely honest, she had had some idea of the sensational response it might evoke in Rita, and had been pondering the prospect of letting it out for some time. Bella ran a hand casually through the curls atop her forehead. "So what? My grandparents…"

"There is a difference between, say, fifteen years between our grandparents, and – and –" Rita spluttered.

"You always did look so amusing when you were flustered," muttered Bella. Fortunately, the other girl did not hear her.

"– And – twenty-four years between yourself and HIM!"

Bella stretched her palms out again. "I don't care! Love conquers all, isn't that what they say? Anyway, it's not like he's already married, or has children older than me…it's not against the law, because he's not technically a teacher…"

She had not been able to pinpoint the exact moment she had realised she was in love with the Dark Lord; part of her considered it that fateful fifth-year night he had come to seek her and test the waters. But most of the time she savoured the wintry night last year when he had stood behind her, breathing upon her cheek, his right arm entwined with hers as he had demonstrated the correct wand movements for the Cruciatus Curse, praising her profusely. She'd been a reasonably good student at school, but under his tutelage, she'd flourished. _He was the best teacher she had ever known…_

Rita rose and stared despairingly at Bella. "But, he's _mad_…"

"…how dare you…"

"…probably a rapist or something…"

"You just say that because you haven't _met him_. He's _wonderful_, Rita. He's charming – _chivalrous_ even – he has this kind of old-fashioned charisma to him. Did you ever meet _anyone_ at Hogwarts who –"

"Ch, ch, ch," said Rita. "Charm, chivalry, charisma. That doesn't make him a saint. Far from it, in fact, if what I've been reading in the _Prophet_, the _Herald_, _Time Turner_, _Which Wizard_…then…oh well, what else do you know about him?"

"He's Slytherin's last descendant – does that not amaze you? Oh, I forgot, you're the materialistic one. Well, he _is _the most intelligent person I've ever known – did you know, he's invented nearly a hundred of his own incantations! All despite the fact that he's an _orphan_, and he grew up in impoverished surroundings…"

Bella's grip tightened on the rough branch above her. "He's so passionate about everything he believes in – and he what he believes in, he believes with his entire soul. He'd do anything for our cause, if he thought it would make the Wizarding World a better place. He would die if he had to. And he just _understands everything_. I've never met anyone who understood…"

When Rita finally spoke again, she did so far more gently. "Did you hear me, Bella? How do you know he's not a rapist or something?"

"Well, finding out won't kill me."

She didn't think she would mind if The Dark Lord decided to ravish her one night on the dining table when she had chosen to linger after a Meeting of the Death Eaters of the Inner Circle. She'd already choreographed it in her dreams and in her mind: long white fingertips in the small of her back, and hot lips on hers, and...

"Bella, do you even hear yourself? Don't you understand – that what you have is something special? That once it's lost, you can't ever get back?"

Bella was tempted to spit back at her, "_Like you can talk, you who slept with every boy whose family's yearly income had six or more digits to it…"_

"Those things don't matter," Bella said, fingering the wand in her pocket. "The world is changing. In the future, other things will be important, like…"

"…I know. I know. Your purity-of-blood and all that rot." Rita was a pureblood, but social status to her was measured in galleons.

Bella whipped out her wand and pointed it at the blonde girl's throat. "Say that again."

Rita glared, raising her voice. "Your purity of blood. And all that _rot_."

"I dare you."

"All – that – rot – which your precious little Dark Lord preaches to you."

"_Incendio," _thought Bella_. _The spell burst out of her and a small ring of flames erupted from her wand, singeing a hole in Rita's sleeve.

"I don't understand you," said Rita. "You don't understand what you're losing."

"I don't understand you either," said Bella. "You have an attitude problem – you refuse to see how dangerous your thinking is. It'll get you into far more trouble than a singed shirt. I was playing nice."

"But Bella…"

"Get lost."

"If you want to _play nice_, then I'll give you a run for your non-verbal magic. I'll show you what _words_ can do."

"I don't care," said Bella, jumping up into the tree and looking down upon Rita, the only ex-classmate she had been in contact with since leaving Hogwarts apart from her fellow Death Eaters. "If you don't like what I do, then just go to hell and burn there."

Bella lifted her head to the warm summer breeze, imagining _his _breath on her face.

_"Tom..."_

Although she never failed to address him formally as "my lord" to his face, in her head she called him "Tom" - it was secret, and special.

_"Tom...hold me..."  
_

It was a single, yet beautiful word she could whisper while lying in bed, whether as a prayer before going to sleep, or in the throes of passion.

_"I love you...Tom..."_

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**_A/N: Thank you to Cuban Sombrero Gal, Nulinya, Schermionie, Syndic-Machiavelli, WhiskeyTangoFoxtrot, lyssy31 and respitechristopher who list DM as one of their favourites! Thanks must also go to Lexie-H for adding me to the wonderful Reviews Lounge C2! _**


	8. Fouetté

_**A/N: **__**It is now 1:00am here in my part of the world. But this chapter is long overdue - please forgive me both for taking such a long hiatus during school exams, and for any imperfections.**_

_**Watch the chapter names get more and more obscure as I run out of ideas and search through my ballet books. This groovy, but very difficult ballet step takes its name from the French "to whip". The Black Swan in the Swan Lake ballet does a lot of these. They are hard to explain (I never got far enough in ballet to attempt it) but essentially they're a bit like pirouettes with a bit added. And accordingly, this chapter is short and sharp.  
**_

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Chapter 8: Fouetté

The February wind whipped up snowflakes and dropped them onto her eyelashes, so that she could barely see the orange-cloaked opponent before her. Although her birthday fell in Autumn, and she had grown to secretly enjoy the feel of dead leaves beneath her boots, she strutted with glee, crunching the snow. It was the most beautiful winter she had ever seen out of all twenty-one she had lived through.

Bella blindly stabbed her wand. "Avada Kedavra!"

The Order member – Fingal? Freedman? Fenwick? Probably not Flitwick. Something beginning with F. It did not matter. He crumpled. Her insides danced for joy. Bella stepped over the corpse in front of her and looked up at her master, her eyes full of love. The Dark Lord beamed upon her with approval. Only one thing could make this scene more perfect. She ran towards him, imagining that his arms would open wide and…

"Tom!" she cried out.

He took a sharp breath and stiffened, his slitlike eyes doubling in size. In one movement, he drew his wand from his pocket, and jabbed it into her windpipe.

"Never," he said, "never, ever, call me that again. Do you understand?"

She rather liked the way the distance between them had been reduced to a mere inch. It was almost worth it, incurring his wrath by calling him the nickname she had coined for him just to be near enough to touch him…

He took a step back, as if he had just read her thoughts. Or perhaps he had simply realised that attacking his most loyal servant in the heat of a passion was not a good idea.

"Bella," he said softly, "do you know why I cannot stand that name?"

Bella dealt best with people being short and sharp with her. She could also deal with people adoring her, and she could deal with people abusing her, but she couldn't deal with anyone who spoke in this disappointed tone. When combined with the way he stood there, as if carved from alabaster, with no indication of the hot, pure blood running through his veins underneath, it made her wish the ground would swallow her up.

"I do not…I confess…"

She considered falling upon her knees before him, if only it would make things right again. But before Bella could put her plan into action, the Dark Lord had begun to speak again, in that same disenchanted voice.

"My mother gave it to me; she named me after my father."

She nodded, as a shudder went down her spine.

"My mother…was a wonderful witch. A gifted parselmouth, like any true daughter of Slytherin."

Bella was confused; she had always assumed the Dark Lord was descended from Slytherin through his father's side.

He continued. "A fine woman she was, beautiful and virtuous. But one day, in the tempestuousness of youth, she lost her heart to a muggle man."

Now it was Bella's turn to gasp and recoil. Only last year, Andromeda had eloped with a mudblood, a rather dull Hufflepuff from her year, Theodore Tonks. Druella had disowned her middle daughter. Bella had rolled her eyes and said, "_I told you so; I knew she had a little harlot in her._" And Cissy? To Cissy, however, it had not seemed so wholly unexpected. But then again, eighteen-year-old Narcissa rarely showed reactions to anything.

A gust of wind surprised Bella, and she pulled her black hood closer to her face. If the catastrophic happened – if she started to cry – hopefully _he_ would not see.

"I know what you're thinking, Bella, you're thinking, 'How could a beautiful, pure-blooded witch only slightly younger than yourself lust after a filthy muggle?' But love is love. Lose your heart, and you lose your head, your power, and in my mother's case…her life. For my father abandoned her once he discovered she was a witch - _he_ somehow drained her of all her magic. This is why only fools who do not know better yield themselves to love."

"Y-yes, my Lord," Bella agreed, shaking in her shoes, and fixing her eyes on a bug on a wall – they were in a dingy laneway of a desolate muggle town. _"But I love you,"_ she longed to say, thinking it might _change _him. Four – no, just _three_ little words?

What he said next was more torturous than any form of dark magic could render. "Steel yourself, Bella," he said. "Never permit yourself to succumb to love. I must let you know that I worry about you from time to time…"

And then it struck her that the _Dark Lord_ himself was a half-blood.

As did Andromeda's scathing words to her family, "_Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind; and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind._"

Bella bit her lip. Was this regret? No – it most certainly was not!

Perhaps the Dark Lord could not change the past - his past - but she would help him change the future. She guessed why he felt this way, and she thought she understood him better than ever now. Such tragedy would never happen again.

She pressed her palms against her cheeks, as if trying to desperately hold together her world as it fell apart. For once, she was grateful for the bitter cold that masked her flushing face, as she fleetingly wondered if this was what "heartbreak" felt like. She didn't think so – she was stronger than that – it would take a lot more than a mishap one day to break Bellatrix Black's spirit.

Bella's shoulders trembled only slightly.

_No, I won't believe it, _she thought. _I'll make him see the light, the truth. I'll __make__ him love me._

* * *

_**A/N: This chapter is a complex one (and god, it's been hard to write, I felt so confused half the time). A lot of things in the story have been steady, or accelerating, or accumulating up to this point, but here, at the halfway mark, things really begin to waver. I don't know if you picked it up, but it's possibly the first time Voldie's ever thought he might have lost control. **_

_**BUT BUT BUT if you can pick up the Jane Austen reference here, or the Shakespeare quote, you are awesome and I will mention you in the next chapter.  
**_

**_Thank you to all who reviewed the last chapter: dragonfire owns, Naughty Little Sausage, TomOrli BloomingWell, The Wineglass, Cuban Sombrero Gal, Syndic-Machiavelli, Heart4Happiness and WhiskeyTangoFoxtrot! I hope this chapter lived up to any of your expectations!_**


	9. Two to Tango

_**A/N: Just to cover my back – since Tonks was born in 1973, we can safely say that Bella will be well over 21 in this next chapter, which was inspired by a number of favourite pieces of mine – Astor Piazzola's Tangos, El Tango De Roxanne and The Tango Maureen. Watch out for the vague RENT references! Don't expect to feel sorry for Bella here.  
**_

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Chapter 9: Two to Tango

"The Ministry is fallen! They are coming!" cried Igor Karkaroff.

Those were the first words which Bella heard upon entering the Lestrange's castle in North Craven. For Karkaroff, who had graduated from Hogwarts in her year and was ranked just below her among the Death Eaters, had been sent up North to recruit the Giants. Bella, on the other hand, had been in London, in the midst of the action. Their work now done, the Death Eaters swarmed into the great hall, swiftly shedding their cloaks. The summer air had brought a furious flush to Bella's cheeks and plastered a few wisps of hair to her cheeks and forehead. Not the most attractive of appearances. But still, she had plans for tonight.

"So, Master," said Bella to the Dark Lord, "What are we to do next? With the Ministry under our control, it seems only a matter of time until the Wizarding World is purged?"

She hoped she wasn't rambling, and she hoped she was implying that he could rest after several years of tireless work. She also wanted to reach out and touch him, but firstly, she did not dare, after what had happened the last time she'd let her mask slip, and secondly, she did not want to appear desperate.

"_Any advice?" she had asked her cousin Kelvin, not mentioning any names.  
_"_Don't look desperate," he had said. "Make it clear that you have high standards, and that he's exactly what you want, and he's what you're going to get."  
_"_That's easy," she had laughed._

Yes, she had plans.

Plans that were unfortunately dashed almost at once. He did not reply. No, it was worse. He just pushed past her. Without as little as looking her way to acknowledge her words. Perhaps he was busy. Perhaps he had other things on his mind. She watched as he flicked his wand and the square of parquet he was standing on extended upwards, forming a raised platform. But she lowered her eyes as his voice boomed out.

"My brothers and sisters, sons and daughters – today you have just witnessed the dawn of a glorious new era…"

He looked in her direction, but she jerked her head away.

"…An age with only one direction. An age of progress, not decay. An age where magic is might. An age that will last forever…"

Bella could hear him inhale through his narrow nostrils. Every day he looked less and less like a man – less like the incorrigible father he did not wish to associate himself with. Gone was the fine Grecian nose and gone was the luxuriant black hair which she'd fancied was a little like hers.

"Now…as a symbol of what we have eternally carved into history, I would like to present a token of my appreciation to what I consider to be the epitome of a perfect Death Eater…"

Her pulse skipped a beat, and she put her hand over her breast, thinking of how she had nailed every mission allocated to her, of how many times she had gone beyond the call of duty, of how much she had taken every single one of his words of advice to heart. She was going to finally be given what she deserved, something far better than membership to the Inner Circle. Perhaps a new wand? Come to think of it, she was tiring of her current one, of walnut and dragon heartstring. Perhaps it was some other priceless magical object. Or, best of all, a necklace…or a ring…or something containing a vial of his blood, in the tradition of Egyptian wizards.

She didn't care what it was.

She just wanted him to say her name.

_There was no one else who had put their life on the line as many times as she had, or who had grinned instead of grimacing through pain, or who had attacked everything with passion, enthusiasm and…_

He spoke again. "Where are Rabastan and Rodolphus?"

Upon hearing those words, Bella thought her heart had been broken. _The Lestrange boys? _But she bit her lip and narrowed her eyes, and her mind moved nimbly to pick up the pieces and fit them together to formulate an even better plan.

"Come forward, boys. I have a token of my appreciation for you. For all you have done tonight, and every other night since you were fifteen."

He reached under his robes and drew out a tiny golden-cup, its handles as smooth and thin as quill shafts. When the Dark Lord turned it over under the candle-lit chandeliers, the engraved image of a badger became clear. The two brothers made their way through the crowd, which parted for them like enchanted waters, the dim lighting softening their rough, rugged features.

"The Lestranges are a family who have not only been prominent as leaders of our world, but are also renowned for their nobility; legend has it that they are distant descendants of Helga Hufflepuff. It is my pleasure, therefore, to restore this heirloom to its rightful owners. Guard it well, boys. Guard it as if…as if it contained a piece of your soul…for after all, this cup contains some of your blood."

Rabastan and Rodolphus bowed deeply as they received his gift.

"Your father would have been very, very proud of you," said the Dark Lord.

Bella knew the pattern of the Dark Lord's movements at these celebratory gatherings; he would speak to the most senior Death Eaters – the ones who had been at school with him – and vanish five minutes after the music had started to play. So she had to work fast with her new plan if she was to not only show the Dark Lord that she was far from desperate for him, but to make him jealous too, make him wish that he'd spoken up before…

"You look like you could use a drink," said Karkaroff, approaching her and halting her train of thought. She followed him to the drinks table, where most of the younger Death Eaters were hovering.

"What's that you're having?" she asked Karkaroff, indicating the flagon in his hand.

"Iceberg Vodka," he said. "It'll cool you down! Just be careful – it's rather strong."

"I don't care," she said, as he poured her a small glass, her eyes fixed on the tall, pale figure on the other side of the room.

She downed it so hastily she could hardly taste it, but it reminded her vaguely of what nail-polish-removing potion might be like. The colourless liquid was so cold that it burned its way down her throat. With the crystal chalice between her fingers, its energy seeping through her skin, she felt newly empowered.

"Rodolphus," said Bella, striding over to the young man with thick eyebrows standing not far from her. "You did very well today." She put her hand on his shoulder to congratulate him, after subtly ensuring that the Dark Lord was watching.

"So did you," said Rodolphus.

Right then, the piano struck up a slow, but tense introduction. It was joined by a bass, then two violins, then another stringed instrument. Each beat was like a clock ticking away, counting down the less than five minutes she had left.

"Dance with me," she replied loudly, almost commandingly.

She figured that he was an easy target, for Rodolphus looked slightly inebriated already. Seizing one of his muscular arms, she steered him towards the centre of the room, joining a number of other dancers, including Casey Jugson and Kelvin. Evidently the Ravenclaw girls had been up to the same late-night activities in their dorm rooms as the Slytherins had; Casey seemed quite sure of her steps. The music was a tango-style piece at the moment, promising to build slowly to a frenzied climax.

"I told _him_ that you had potential," Bella continued to Rodolphus.

"I thought you were just saying that because you felt you owed Rabastan a favour."

"Not at all – I _wanted_ to see you as part of our…_family_…"

The strings went through a sudden, complicated manoeuvre, and Rodolphus matched it by whirling her around, and then threw her backwards. It knocked her breath out of her.

"Where'd _you_ learn to Tango?" she asked, as he caught her.

"It's a long story," he said. "I'll save it for another time."

She turned her head sharply under the pretence of an artistic hair flick, to check that she was still in plain sight of her master. But then, something exploded in her, causing heat to flood throughout her body as Rodolphus pulled her close. "Let's see your high-kick," he said.

"I'm wearing a skirt," said Bella.

"I don't care."

_Tango isn't about love_, she thought. _Tango's about desire. And power. What else is worth living for?_ She knew she had him, wrapped around her finger – even though _her_ leg was wrapped around his waist – and that was the moment she chose to kiss him.

* * *

**_A/N: Whoa, that was much longer than planned, it poured out ridiculously fast and I hope you're still with me (Concrit is welcome!)! Special thanks to Heart4Happiness, Schermione, PadmePotter, respitechristopher, The Wineglass, Syndic-Machiavelli, WhiskeyTangoFoxtrot, Naughty Little Sausage, Cuban Sombrero Gal and ShadowMoonDancer for their comments on the previous chapter! (Readers! Follow their example!)_**


	10. Pas de Deux

_**A/N: Follows straight on from the last chapter...well, almost...**_

_**I suppose I ought to warn people that this may be medically graphic. If House MD makes you toss your cookies, this chapter is not for you. If tampon ads on TV put you off your dessert, you may not like this. Oh, and there's a mild sexual reference as well, but nothing more than your average soap opera. What concerns me are Bella's HIGHLY INSENSITIVE comments concerning motherhood – they do not in any way represent my own views.**_

* * *

Chapter 10: Pas de Deux

_She could feel the polished wood of the table under her sweat-soaked skin. She could hear gasps, grunts and groans, some of which were her own. There was a tangy taste in her mouth, and there was the scent of a man in the air. Yet she kept her eyes screwed shut, thinking, "If I don't look, I can pretend it's not him, if I don't look, I can pretend he's someone else…"_

Bella detected the sensation of fluid leaking out from between her legs, her eyes snapped open, and she found herself tossed out of her dream. And nearly out of bed, too.

It had been more than two months since the events at the Ministry and at the Lestrange castle, and the memories were clearer than a crystal glass of vodka. On a drunken spur of the moment, she and Rodolphus had retreated to a deserted room, with the result that she was now pregnant with his child, to be married to him in about a month's time. Once this wretched "morning sickness" and such was over.

Even though it was the middle of the night, she was feeling slightly nauseous now; her imagination was telling her that she could smell fresh blood. She reached for her wand, whispering_ "Lumos"_ in her head.

Bella looked down, and realised there _was _blood on her sheets.

Her heart skipped a beat.

Perhaps the test had been wrong! Perhaps she wouldn't have to be encumbered for nine tortuous months! Perhaps she wouldn't be demoted to the status of "_Mother_"! Perhaps she even didn't need to be married to a man she couldn't love...

Over the next few days, Bella noticed that her body had returned to its usual monthly cycle. When her next appointment with the local Mediwitch came up, she thought it safe to break the news to Rodolphus.

"Rodolphus," she said over breakfast one morning, "I don't think we need to see the Mediwitch. I…I don't think I'm having a baby after all…"

"W-what? Bella, are you sure? We did the tests..." he spluttered, nearly choking on his porridge. Rodolphus had been ever so excited, and proud to whisper to the Dark Lord that he and Bella would be raising 'the next generation of noble purebloods'.

"They could be wrong," she replied, casually stirring her coffee. "Anything can be wrong...as you should know..." She was referring, of course, to the latest bungle. With envoys to the Giants and Dementors having been declared a blazing success, Karkaroff, Kelvin and Rodolphus, among others, were confident the Goblins could be won over twice as quickly. But the beasts had snubbed any displays of diplomacy, angering the Death Eaters so much that they slaughtered the entire family in their Nottingham home. While Bella thought their deaths no loss to magical society, she thought she would have done a much better job, avoiding her master's displeasure, and in addition she liked maintaining her reign over Rodolphus.

Rodolphus flushed, but maintained his overall composure. "Well then...you shouldn't be afraid of going to the Midwitch anyway, just to test if the test is wrong?"

_Beaten at her own game._

It had been a recurring theme this autumn, which had included her twenty-fourth birthday. She might have snatched a few more moments of attention from the Dark Lord, but they came at the price of her position in the Inner Circle. As much as she loved it when he asked her how she and the baby were, she couldn't help but feel slightly miffed that she now didn't exist without the thing growing inside her. And although Rodolphus did his best to make her comfortable, he was also able to do his best on Death Eater missions, which made her feel useless.

Such as now, when, alone at a clinic in London, safely under the disguise of "Isabelle Lamotte", she lay down on the examining table and bared her stomach.

"Ten weeks, did you say, dear?" said Midwitch Pettigrew, poking about. Bella thought that the short, squat witch reminded her of a ferret. Or a mole. Or some other burrowing rodent.

"It was probably stress that made me skip a few...I've always been...irregular," she said, truthfully.

"And have you always had a bit of bloating with your cycles, dear?" asked the witch, still prodding her.

"Yes," said Bella, quickly and thoughtlessly.

The witch asked Bella a few more exasperating questions. How many days had she noticed bleeding for, exactly? How many days had her monthlies lasted for in the past? Had there been any pain? Did this pain radiate? What kind of pain was it? To say Bella was relieved when the hour was up was the understatement of the year.

"No, my dear, you're definitely still pregnant, but I think it's time we ran some scans…just simple, standard ones, of course…I'm referring you to a Healer…and it might be a good idea to bring your husband..."

_Husband_...Bella squirmed. But she had a suspicion that something was amiss, and thought the two of them ought to go.

Healer Abbott, whom they met at St Westwick's was the kind of man that made Bella feel sick. He was just _too nice_. He had blonde hair so bright and buttery that it gave the impression the sun shone out of all his orifices, and even though he must have been forty, he had the chirpiness of a four-year-old.

After applying a cool gel to her belly, the Healer placed what looked like a small, hand-held telescope directly onto her skin and pushed it about. Rodolphus, under the pseudonym "Roland", happily made small talk.

_How on earth had she gambled on the wrong person? Rodolphus' tough external appearance was only compensation for his insipid character. Even __Karkaroff__ probably had more nerve._

While she was pondering the disaster her life had become, she suddenly noticed that the prattle had disappeared, the two Healers in the room were speaking in hushed voices, and Rodolphus was holding her hand and looking at her as if she only had a year left to live.

"Mrs Lamotte, I'm sorry to tell you, but…"

It turned out the baby had as much will to live as Bella – by some twist of fate, instead of implanting itself in her womb, it had set up camp in one of the adjacent tubes. There was no choice but to get rid of it, for if it was allowed to grow, it would eventually kill her.

"The way we usually treat an _ectopic pregnancy_ as such," said Healer Abbott, "is with the _Extramote_ potion, which can make your body reabsorb it. The other option…"

"…it'll be fine," said Bella, interrupting him.

"Just listen for once, won't you?" Rodolphus retorted. Evidently stressful situations brought out the best in him.

"…I understand this is difficult for you," said the Healer, continuing to explain why she had to be "fully informed". Apparently there was a risk, either way, that she could be left infertile. It was greater with the Potion, but Surgery meant that she would be incapacitated for even longer, that this _thing_ could happen again, that she would have a scar…

"You don't have to marry me anymore," said Bella, hardly daring to hope, when they had a moment alone together. "You know…how…how I probably can't give you children," she stammered, nearly uttering "_now that I'm not pregnant with your brat anymore"_ by mistake.

"But Bella, I would love you whether you gave me a thousand babies or none…you're brilliant, bold, beautiful…" Rodolphus babbled.

"No, it's just that…"

But the words stuck in her throat, and all she could muster was a smile.

* * *

**_A/N: I did wonder why Bella said...or at least implied that she couldn't have children in book 6 to Narcissa.  
I have an O&G tutor called "Abbott", and he's great, so here is my tribute to him. "Westwick" is a combination of the two Children's hospitals nearest to me. Lastly, "The Extramote" is an anagram for "methotrexate", which is used to treat some ectopic pregnancies. Yay for medical in-jokes. I have exams in three weeks and have not started studying. W00t._**


	11. Prima Donna

_**A/N: To all the diehard Bella/Tom shippers – here is your moment.**_

* * *

Chapter 11: Prima Donna

A sip of potion was all that had been needed to turn Bella's life around. Firstly, both she and Rodolphus accepted from then on that children were absolutely out-of-the-question, even when Narcissa gave birth to a pale and scrawny thing called "Draco". Of course, Druella had wanted him to be named "Cygnus", since the girls' father had died the year before – the second windfall that had come Bella's way; without him, she was one step closer to her inheritance.

They'd lost Regulus too – in more ways than one. He had been inducted into the Death Eaters at sixteen, like everyone was these days, but had backed out and been appropriately punished. Bella couldn't help but think, "_Good Riddance_"; she hadn't liked him much more than his wayward brother, Sirius. Her younger sisters had been the ones who had _loved_ their cousins, who had instilled their worst attributes – Andromeda her blood-betrayal, and Narcissa her vegetative apathy. Hadn't she mentioned her lack of faith in Regulus' and Narcissa's characters to the Dark Lord?

Lastly, Igor Karkaroff had proved himself to be far less of a wizard than her husband, by allowing himself to be arrested and thrown into Azkaban. Thank Merlin she hadn't chosen _Karkaroff _that night – at least Rodolphus had proved himself a semi-decent companion, and was still in the Dark Lord's favour.

And so it was that Halloween 1981 came around, the most propitious night of the Wizarding calendar. Bella's mother had come out of mourning, and had decided to host one of her good old parties.

And just as it had been at her first, since Narcissa could not bear to leave her baby's side, Bella was the only one of her sisters to wander downstairs to mingle with the crowd.

_Or should she say, a certain tall, handsome, _dark_ stranger?_

"Happy Halloween, Bella," said her master, fingering the silvery, serpentine clasp of his cloak. "Chilly tonight, isn't it? Care to join me for a conversation by the fire?"

She was not concerned, for Rodolphus was busy being a Mummy's Boy as usual, flanking Jocasta with Rabastan. "Of course, my Lord," Bella said, sweeping after him.

Although the fragrance of the firewood calmed her down somewhat, it could not stop her fingernails from drumming on the mantelpiece as she looked nervously at the Dark Lord, as he settled into the lone armchair. The fire did, however, provide an excuse for her sweaty palms.

"So," he said, speaking from the plush chair as if it were a marble throne, "do tell me what's been happening in your lives…"

"I turned thirty the other day," she said, before she could check herself. "I'm getting so…"

She didn't really want to imply that her master was ageing too, but he picked it up, as usual. "Old? No, Bella. I have no plans to become senescent and senile, to allow either body or mind to decay and fade into ignominiousness. Ever since I learnt of what happened to my mother, I vowed that her death would not be in vain, that my birth would mean that _our glorious kind_ no more may die."

The sentence sounded slightly awkward, but Bella still listened, drawn towards him, rapt, as the Dark Lord stretched his arm out to her. "_Born to raise those in the earth, born to give them second birth._"

_He must be referring to the inferi_, thought Bella, taking his hand between hers. "My lord, I meant…nothing…It just seems like so long ago, those days when I used to sit on your lap and you told me tales of Slytherin and gave me a tiara," she said, coming around him to lean on the arm of his chair.

"If it'd make you feel young again, I wouldn't mind granting your wish," he said, pulling his hand free from her caress and stroking her cheek.

"Are you sure? I'm not twenty-something pounds anymore," she said, as more of a statement than a question. But she got an answer – as a cold hand snaked around her waist, pulling her back against the dark velvet.

"Twenty-five years I've watched over you," murmured a voice in her ear.

"Twenty six, my Lord," she corrected, shifting ever-so-slightly, so that one of her calves was pressed up against one of his.

"I never imagined you'd grow up to be so perfect," he said, looking into her eyes.

"Me?" she whispered, running a thumb along one of his prominent cheekbones, "Perfect?" She couldn't believe what she was hearing, as she traced her way down his immaculate neck to where the clasp of his cloak was.

_With a few more moments of fiddling, she could have it off him, and draped over the both of them like a curtain. Once they were both under his cloak, it would be a matter of…_

"Yes, Bella, you," her master reiterated, with that all-knowing tone of superiority that she adored. "I always had great hopes, and great plans for you from the very beginning."

…_and spreading her legs…and…and…_

"So, now, tell me how Rodolphus is coping with having to live up to the standards you set," said the Dark Lord.

With that, his spell was broken more effectively than _Finite Incantatum_. While Bella managed to stop herself from crying out, she did flinch.

Whether the Dark Lord noticed it or not, he continued nonetheless. "How strong do you think his loyalty is?"

"Oh," she said indifferently, "You know, we're very well matched. He's someone I can always depend on. Always respects what I say. Believes in the same things I do. I love him…"

Most of this was true – she'd come to enjoy Rodolphus' companionship over the past few years. He was someone to vent to, someone to clean up after her messes, and she figured, even someone who would be a human shield if the occasion demanded it. Her last three words, though, were lies.

"…I know," Bella started again, feeling bolder, now that she was most definitely no longer a girl, "I know you don't approve of _love_. I'm not madly in love with him, but I admire him for what he is…"

Her _real_ master gave her a thin smile, his pale lips looming tantalizingly close to hers.

"Oh," he said, "I know of his loyalty to you. I was inquiring of his loyalty to us…to our cause…though from your account it would appear that he will never waver."

"Never," she echoed.

"And what of your brother-in-law?"

"My Lord, there is nothing the three of us would not do for you if you requested."

He paused for a moment. "I have reason to believe, though, that young Severus Snape's allegiance may not be up to standard. He has made a number of remarks…rather, _requests_, that have disturbed me. It is particularly worrying only two years after…young Regulus Black."

Severus Snape was five years younger than Narcissa – in fact, if Bella was recalling correctly, he had been in the year above Regulus – in Sirius' year – at Hogwarts. Except while Sirius had been defiant, deceitful and disgraceful, Snape was quite the opposite. Although he was only a half-blood, he had been admitted into the Inner Circle by his sixteenth birthday. It was not like losing eighteen-year-old Regulus – from a practical point of view, Bella had to admit that the Death Eaters could not afford to lose such a talent as Snape. She immediately resolved to instil some fear into the twenty-one year-old boy sometime in the next few days.

"Keep an eye on him, won't you?"

"Of course, my Lord," said Bella. She was beginning to feel uncomfortable that she had said too much earlier. She looked at her watch, and suddenly realised that time had flown.

"You've been here for more than five minutes since the music started. To what do I owe this occasion to?"

The Dark Lord laughed. "You were always so observant, Bella. Needless to say, tonight will be a night that will be remembered by wizards and witches all over the world _for ever_."

There was a shout from the other end of the room that made her jump out of her master's lap.

"_PRINCIPESSA, BELLA, DIVA! PRIMA DONNA! GODDESS OF…"_

"It's nothing," said the Dark Lord, rising out of the chair and putting a comforting hand on Bella's shoulder. "Either Crabbe, or Goyle, or both, have intoxicated themselves again."

Bella struggled, and failed, to contain a snort. Those two clowns…thank goodness they had young wizards like _Snape_. And great wizards, of course, like…

"But now I must apologise to you, Bella – for as I have done so many times before, I must leave you, rather rudely, I fear."

The words suddenly slipped from her lips. "_Are you going to kiss me good-bye?_"

"But Bella," he said, taking a step back, "I _will_ be seeing you again very soon."

"Just this once?" she asked. "Because it's Halloween?"

He sighed, _pretending reluctance in order not to scare her off_, she supposed.

"All right."

* * *

_**A/N: I**__** believe Riddle gave her a **__**chaste kiss on the cheek or forehead**__**–but I know persons like Syndic-Machiavelli would like to believe otherwise, so I left the end open to interpretation.  
**_

_**Halloween for witches and wizards seems to be like their Christmas, hence the reference to "Hark the Herald Angels Sing". I assume Riddle would have heard carols at the orphanage, and they would've permeated his subconscious (as they have mine) and he might've gotten them garbled.**_

_**As we approach the 5**__**th**__** year of my account's existence on the site, I can't believe I have accumulated a total of 100K words and 350 reviews in a matter of seven months. Thank you to all my readers and reviewers for supporting me. Unfortunately, it is now off to the evil world of Med School Exams for me. **_

_**I may not be hanging around this website, but I WILL be checking my emails, so please do review! Getting reviews in my inbox is such a welcome break from studying!**_


	12. Retiré

_**A/N: A short chapter. Thank you to PadmePotter, deeps85, Schermione, Heart4Happiness, ShadowMoonDancer, I.am.so.sick, The Wineglass, SaintRidley, Syndic-Machiavelli, silver and rubies and 3NIGMA for their lovely reviews on the last!**_

* * *

Chapter 12: Retiré

The four of them – Bella, Rodolphus, Rabastan and Bartemius – had been in the temporary cell for a month. Nineteen-year-old Bartemius Crouch had spent most of the time curled up in a corner, crying pathetically for his mother. While Bella suspected these tears were merely for show, an attempt to tug the heartstrings of the Wizengamot, she could not believe that the young man would stoop so low. He had shown so much promise in the past two years that it seemed impossible that he would renounce his master.

Rabastan had done hardly better. Although he had not been bleating and blubbering out loud, he had picked at his food and grown thin and nervous-looking. It had been his younger brother, Rodolphus, who had shown surprising strength in keeping him on their side.

"_Remember what our Lord said about the Dementors. We have nothing to fear from them; they are our natural allies."_

While Bella could never _love_ Rodolphus, he commanded a certain level of respect from her. Something about his dark, stocky build conveyed rock-solid strength and stability. In addition, over the last four weeks, his hair had grown long, luxuriant, and very nearly as wild as her own.

Why were the four of them there in that cell? Unable to accept that her master had been defeated on Halloween by a baby, Bella had taken the initiative to find out where he had vanished to. She had gathered three fellow Death Eaters who had not wormed their way out of imprisonment by claiming they were under the Imperius Curse. Together, they had gone to the house of two infamous Aurors, Frank and Alice Longbottom.

"_I know nothing of his whereabouts!" Longbottom had screamed, under the influence of the Cruciatus Curse. "He's as good as dead…"_

"_You will tell me where my master is!" Bella had shrieked, interrupting him. Pointing her wand at Longbottom's wife, who had come to defend him, she had cast the Curse on her too._

Unfortunately, the Auror department had not been entirely disbanded as she had hoped. Within days, the four of them had been captured and shipped across the sea to Azkaban, the wizard prison.

"_Don't think happy thoughts," Rodolphus had told her, holding her and stroking her back. "Have faith, instead. They can't suck out your thoughts of purpose." _

"_The Dark Lord will rise again," she had whispered back to him. "He will break down these walls. He will remake the wands they have snapped. He will take us back by his side. He will honour us beyond our wildest dreams. He will rise again."_

"_He will rise again," Rodolphus had repeated._

As their days in this bitter, frozen world built up, this had become Bella's mantra.

_He will rise again. He will rise again. He will rise again._

At last, the day came for their trial by the Wizengamot. Bella and her three companions were escorted by six dementors to the Ministry of Magic in London and led to a dungeon made entirely from dark stone, dimly lit by torches, lined on three sides by rows of benches, with four chairs in the centre. It was here that a Dementor forced Bella to sit down, and magical chains bound her arms to the arm-rests. As the Dementors swept out, she fondly recalled her last night with her master and imagined she was seated in the same chair.

"_I never imagined you'd grow up to be so perfect."_

She was so lost in her little fantasy that she did not realise, until he started speaking, that the man presiding over their case was none other than Bartemius' father, who, along with his twin sisters, had condemned his fellow schoolmates and decided to fight them. Had it really been that long ago, when she had ceased to be a child in her master's eyes, when he had sought her opinion for recruitment?

"_From Slytherin? The Crouch twins are smart."_

"You have been brought here before the Council of Magical Law," boomed a voice, "so that we may pass judgment on you, for a crime so heinous -"

Bella looked at young Bartemius and saw that he was quivering so violently that his pale yellow hair was flopping about all over his face. "Father…father, please…" he gasped.

"– that we have rarely heard the like of it within this court," his father continued, gaining the volume necessary to drown him out.

Bella locked both of them out, diving deep into her memories.

_Had her master not told her that he would never leave her? That wizards and witches need die no more?_

She snapped out of her reverie again to the sound of applause. Bella was vaguely aware of the words, "to insanity", "life", "sentence" and "Azkaban" as the Dementors were gliding back into the room once more, and her arms were set free.

"The Dark Lord will rise again, Crouch!" she cried with glee. "Throw us into Azkaban, we will wait! He will rise again and will come for us; he will reward us beyond any of his other supporters! We alone were faithful! We alone tried to find him!"

_He will rise again. He will rise again. He will rise again._


	13. Adagio

**_A/N: Warning! For those who do not like swearing, there will be some here. Please excuse Bella. Thank you Impromptu1135, nighteyes00, WhiskeyTangoFoxtrot, respitechristopher, LovettsLover, Heart4Happiness, SaintRidley, The Wineglass, Syndic-Machiavelli, Schermione, PadmePotter and silver and rubies for their comments on Chapter 12. In case you were wondering, "Retire" means to withdraw, and "Adagio" means "slow"_ **

* * *

Chapter 13: Adagio

There was a bench and a table at the end of the room Bella was ushered into. In the centre of this table was a row of metal bars that extended all the way to the ceiling, and on the other side of the bars was a pale slip of a woman whom Bella had not seen for a long time.

"Sister, how are you?" asked Narcissa Malfoy, sitting down on the stony chair provided. "How is everything?"

"It's slow," Bella said, through gritted teeth, as she took a seat, and chains on the floor immediately sprang to life and encircled her ankles. "It's _fucking_ slow!"

Although she was only forty, Bella had spent close to a decade in Azkaban, and this had aged her. Every morning she woke up with aches in every organ of her body – her spine, her knees, her neck, her lungs, her heart…

Narcissa, who was just thirty-six, winced at the coarse language. "Bella, I never thought I'd hear you say that."

"Who are you, my sister or my mother?" she snapped at the younger woman, whose white-blonde hair and freckle-free skin radiated good health.

"You know as well as I do that _she_ would stop breathing if she saw you right now."

Bella had not been permitted to see her mother, who was terminally ill with petrifold regression. "Why, what did she say to you this time?" she asked.

While Bella couldn't have cared less about Narcissa's answer, she wanted to make her sister hurt as much as she herself was hurting now.

Narcissa's lips narrowed, but her face became even paler. "She's worried about you. About what she thinks you might be becoming…"

"Becoming? Becoming!" Bella threw her head back and laughed. "She's afraid I might be becoming an _un_becoming unladylike woman, isn't she? Afraid that I might stop caring about what comes out of my mouth? Well it's better than you, you bulimic twat, don't think I didn't know how you kept yourself looking like a stick insect all your life." She was confabulating, but she persisted. "You – you're a good-for-nothing brat – you never said anything useful all your life, just stared into space like an idiot and followed people around like a lost puppy. Lucius now, Karkaroff back then – happy what happened to him? Happy how he sold all of us out and got off scot free and started teaching at Durmstrang? Is that where Draco will be going? Durmstrang? Hoping to get some special treatment for your precious little boy?"

"As a matter of fact, I'm not too keen on Draco going to Durmstrang, even if Lucius approves. I would prefer him to be closer to home."

This only incensed Bella further. "Stop it – stop pampering him like that. He'll turn out like you, _sissy Cissy_…I remember how spoilt you were as a child, now you're going to spoil him. You had no idea how to look after yourself; you've had to leech off better wizards and witches all your life…don't want to know how you're subsisting now…"

Narcissa still remained calm. "Bella, I don't think you should worry about me, you should take care of yourself – I'm _fine_ – Lucius looks after me well – but who's looking after you?"

Bella sneered at the expression that flitted across Narcissa's face – evidently she regretted asking the question. "_You know who_, Narcissa. You know who is the man who has watched over me my whole life, who will not desert me now. He's out there, Narcissa, and he will be back for me! _He will rise again!_" she hissed.

"How's Rodolphus?" asked Narcissa, attempting to steer the conversation into safer waters.

Bella bristled. "All right, last time I checked." She was in the women's part of the prison, and was only allowed to see her husband on special visiting days. As a result, she rarely spared a thought for him. Moreover, she was now unable to recall any of the happy moments she had spent with him; every day she spent in Azkaban made it clearer to her that the marriage was a farce. A marriage of convenience. Or worse. But the Dark Lord?" Bella was glad for the thousandth time that Narcissa could not read her mind.

"Mother wants you to be _a good girl_. She wants to see you one more time before…" Narcissa's voice died away.

Bella rattled and kicked the chains at her feet, which caused her excruciating pain. "Well – tell her – I have no interest in her acting-games. _I'm _–_ not_ – _eleven_ – _years_ – _old, mother!_ I am my own mistress now."

"No you're not. You're not – you know that. Look at yourself. Look _inside_ yourself."

Bella caught a glimpse of her reflection in the polished bars that prevented her from throttling her sister. Her cheeks and the sockets of her eyes had become shadowy depressions. Her hair had lost all its characteristic lustre. There was not a single feature on her face that did not look thin and stretched.

Narcissa's words drifted towards her as if they were both underwater. "He's gone, Bella. Soon it'll be just you and me. Why can't you see?"

Narcissa stretched out a hand through the bars, but Bella brushed it away and shouted back, her voice becoming hoarse.

"I don't need you! You and your husband and your lying, cheating ways. You and Karkaroff deserved each other. Happy threesome, perhaps? Telling the Wizengamot that you had been under the Imperius curse when you joined our side out of free choice. No, more than free choice – because it was the _right thing to do!_ You have done wrong, Narcissa, and he will rise again, and he will want justice done."

The blonde-haired woman turned to one of the Ministry officials who were overseeing the visit. "Please, _please_, sir, my sister is sick."

"You are no sister of mine!" screamed the raven-haired woman, who had heard every word.

Narcissa continued, "She's delirious – haven't you heard her raving?"

"I'm sorry, Mrs Malfoy," said the guard gravely, "Bellatrix Lestrange was convicted of a crime so monstrous that she must have been quite mad before she came here."

"She wasn't," said Narcissa. Bella could see the weak, watery tears on her face. "She _wasn't_ mad – it's what this place has done to her. If only you knew her as well as I did…"

"You _thought_ you knew her," said the guard gently.

"That's right, Narcissa! You _thought_ you knew me – you thought you could sort me into one of your nice little boxes like one of your itty bitty dollies? You're wrong. Oh-so-wrong, Cissy darling."

"Bella may not have long to live – and – and please – my mother will not last long either – and it's her wish that she see her daughter one more time…"

"I can't wait to die!" shrieked Bella. "I won't have to ever see you where I'm going. Hell awaits me. Hell itself breathes out contagion to this world. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Aren't you going to tell me to go to Hell, Narcissa?"

But Narcissa, like so many times before, merely blinked, sniffed, and silently slunk away.


	14. Échappé

_**A/N:Thank you Impromptu1135, PadmePotter, Syndic-Machiavelli, TomOrli BloomingWell, silver and rubies and SaintRidley for your gracious reviews on the last chapter! I took some liberties with Chapter 14; it doesn't follow the movie. And "Échappé" means "escape". For the record, I wrote it in a Medical Statistics lecture in a freezing auditorium. TWO more parts of DM to go after this!**_

_**Thanks to SaintRidley and PadmePotter who corrected my maths :P**_

* * *

Chapter 14: Échappé

Bella huddled on a thin mattress under a thinner blanket inside her cell. She was cradling her knees within her arms and rocking back and forth. Her hands were balled into fists for want of a wand. Deprived of all magical playthings, she had turned to words.

Words could hurt.

"_O mother, O mother,  
Do you like this tune?  
I hear that you died  
Not a moment too soon…"_

Words could heal.

"_Lord of Darkness, hear my prayer:  
To adore your name I swear.  
Don't forsake this lonely soul;  
Rise again and make me whole…"_

As she savoured the words, her breath formed deathly white clouds in front of her lips. Although it was the cold that initially shocked new inmates, the cold was also the first thing that they all adapted to. It had taken about a week for Bella to lose the sensation in her toes. If only she could just as easily lose the sensation in her _soul_ – the feeling of being so empty that she could never be full again.

Fourteen years it had been.

Fourteen years of bruises from beating on the stone walls. Fourteen years of wondering what colour looked like, and being shocked by the redness of her blood when she accidentally opened a vein. Fourteen years of gruelling gruel.

They could defeat her body, but they could not defeat her mind.

Bella still slept fitfully, but she always dreamed. She sought revenge upon the Potter boy who was the cause of all her troubles; oddly enough, the Dementors were completely impotent when it came to these types of thoughts. She sought Rodolphus, out of desperation.

_Itty, bitty, baby Roddy,  
__On the other side of the wall,__  
You're all I've got bloody left__  
The one answering my calls.  
__And when it comes to the dark and deft,  
You understand their thrall._

Bella lowered her lips to her knuckles and shut her eyes. Of course, above all, she sought consummation with her master, to be entwined in his arms, sharing greedy kisses with him.

"_Lord of Darkness, hear my prayer..."_

All of a sudden, there was an explosion, and a blast of fresh sea air filled her lungs. Her pulse began to race as moonlight streamed into the room and she was blinded for a moment. Out of this light strode an erect figure in a billowing black cloak. Her salvation had arrived.

She had had visions like these before – complete with the clammy skin, the dry mouth and the painful palpitations. This time, Bella fell to her knees and crawled across the hard stone floor. She reached out for the hem of her master's robes and brought it to her lips. This was where most of her visions fell to pieces, when she would wake up with her face and fingers completely numb.

But not this time. This time, the fabric did not evanesce with her longing caresses.

Bella's saviour dropped his hood.

Nothing had changed about him since their last face-to-face encounter that fateful Halloween. The whiteness of his skin and the crimson of his eyes were as pure as the magical blood running through his veins. All the black hair of his youth had gone, and he was about as thin as her.

"I knew you would come for me," said Bella, tears running down her cheeks. Now she was sure it was real – for the first time in her memory, she felt _happy_. "I knew you would come and help me escape," she repeated, "I knew you would…I kept saying, I kept praying, all those nights, _he will rise again, he will rise again_, and it worked, it worked, it worked…all those times I chased you in – through – my dreams..."

Still kneeling, she gazed up at him. Smooth, slender fingers took hold of and lifted her chin.

Now she could see the hole in the wall from where he had flown in, and the cell that had confined her – that had been her whole world for nearly half her life – was no more. Her world, her future, was infinite, and at the same time it was encompassed in the man standing before her.

"Welcome back," said Master Riddle.


	15. Grand jeté

**A/N: ****Two warnings: ****firstly – there is ****gratuitous violence****, especially ****use of the torture curse**** – and there are a few flashbacks****. Grand jete refers to a split-jump type move. Also - ****I wouldn't put it past Voldemort to tell each of his Death Eaters that they were his personal favourite. It'd keep them on their toes and pit them against each other. **

**This extra-long chapter is dedicated to my dedicated reviewers - SaintRidley, Impromptu1135, deeps85, Syndic-Machiavelli, Druella Black Rosier, PadmePotter, Bellatrixie7 and silver and rubies!  
**

* * *

Chapter 15: Grand jeté

Her master had taken her, with the remainder of the freed Death Eaters, to Malfoy Manor. At first, Bella trod carefully, concerned that one day Narcissa would hiss at her, "_I will not have you in my house."_ But the girl was as forgiving – or forgetful – as usual, and soon, Bella had found herself wandering the mansion while waiting for her master's return.

She had not had to wait long before they had been called to action.

"_There is a mission that requires your presence,_" her master had said to them at the long dining-room table. _"You must infiltrate the Department of Mysteries in the Ministry of Magic...you must find a way to retrieve Prophecy..."_

The house-elf which had formerly been under Aunt Walburga's power had shown up on their doorstep at Christmas, and Narcissa had had the good sense to permit it to make itself at home in their pureblood mansion. In return, it gave them invaluable information.

"_Kreacher watches the Potter boy," _it said. _"The Potter boy grows closer and closer to my mistress's prodigal son...if he jumped off a cliff, the boy would follow him down..."_

How Bella had struggled to contain her laughter, both when the elf had spoken to them, and when she had relayed the information to the Dark Lord. It had seemed so easy – her master offering to bait the Potter boy so he took the Prophecy from the ninety-seventh shelf, capturing him and seeing him safely to the Manor to be dealt with...

Only somehow, it had gone awry; the Prophecy had been smashed before anyone had had a chance to hear its contents and Narcissa and Bella's husbands had been captured by Aurors.

And worst of all, the Dark Lord was angry and _disappointed _with her, even though she had been the only one who had succeeded at evading the Ministry. She had still failed to retrieve the Prophecy, and for that he had been avoiding her. Until today. He had shown up at Malfoy Manor, initially intending to speak to Narcissa and Draco. His assistant, the squat, pathetic creature called "Wormtail", had told her that her Lord might grant her an audience if there was time. So Bella had waited in the corridor outside once she had spotted the blonde woman and boy leaving the dining-room.

"He will see you now," said Wormtail, coming out at last.

Bella pushed on the heavy door, leaving a sweaty palm-print on the wood.

"That's right, you'd do well to be nervous," sneered Wormtail, as he thrust an open wound on his forearm in Bella's face. "He told me _I_ got off easy – because I was one of his favourites."

She wiped her wet hands on her robes and spat back, "I'll deal with you later...you..."

"You may leave us, Wormtail," interrupted a voice from deep inside the room, reading her mind.

Bella's eyes found her master, a dark pillar, standing by a window with his back to her. She walked towards him, stopping about a foot away. "Master...I am...I speak for all of us...we are all more sorry than words can express..."

If her apology had any effect on him, he concealed it completely. "You know why you are here, Bella."

"But...I killed Sirius Black," she said weakly. Out of the context of the Ministry, her words had lost their jubilant rhythm, and yet she continued, prepared to play anything in order to win back his favour. "I killed my cousin. I killed him for..."

"You mean _Black_? His death was _meaningless _to the blood traitors; all he was doing was sitting and rotting in their slum. In fact you have harmed _your own side_, now that we have lost one more means of access to..._Harry Potter_."

Although it was the middle of summer, and the afternoon sun had not yet set, the long, silken curtains of the room were drawn shut. There was a golden candle-lit chandelier on the ceiling, but most of the light came from the fireplace – a splendid affair, with a white marble mantelpiece featuring a number of peacocks in relief. It threw shadows on the linen wallpaper, punctuated by several – empty – portrait frames.

"Stand on the rug before the fire," her master said, most likely wanting to see her more clearly. It was Bella's turn to turn her back, as she gravitated towards the warmth. The Dark Lord seated himself in the nearest armchair. "Now take your cloak off."

She complied as efficiently as she could, fumbling with the clasp and letting the light fabric slip from her shoulders.

Watching her with burning intensity, the Dark Lord raised his wand. Without uttering a word from his lips, Bella's cloak lifted itself off the rug and ripped itself into three parts. One bit of rag covered her eyes, a second bound her wrists and the third her ankles. It was one of her favourite pieces of clothing; she let out a small cry.

"You will be quiet, or I will gag your mouth too."

_You're just doing this because you're testing me, _Bella thought. She wove her fingers together and squeezed, just as she had in Azkaban. If her master thought she was weak enough to let him break her, she would show him how wrong he was.

"Crucio!"

_How can I be in pain when it is you? You, my life, my world, my master...no matter how you touch me, it will always bring me joy..._

She had been expecting it, but her knees still gave way. The pain came from everywhere – from around her, as she clawed at her clothes and skin – and from within her, as she writhed, her cheek brushing against the rough fibres of the rug. All she could control was her voice, pressing her lips together to hold in a scream.

_You're doing this because you love me, Bella thought. It's your own way of showing that you care. It's the same way you moulded me as a child, when you cruelly turned your back and burnt my toys..._

"You _failed _at the Ministry – you allowed yourself to be thwarted by a gang of underage mudbloods and blood-traitors. I could barely believe my eyes. It will never happen again, do you hear that? _It will never happen again._"

His words echoed in her mind. _It will never happen again. _

_We will rise again. _

_You will rise again._

"Good," said the Dark Lord. "Now you may speak – tell me, how do you feel about your husband now, Bella? How do you feel about Rodolphus – in Azkaban – hiding – hoping this second round of imprisonment will result in a welcome as warm as last time – _weak_ – allowing the mudbloods to get their filthy paws on him –"

Her heart took a great leap in her chest.

"I used to pity him," said Bella. She had, indeed, been oddly drawn to him in the days after they had been freed. She had had to consequently convince herself that they coupled against walls and bookshelves purely through animal need and nothing else.

"Why?"

"Azkaban – the Dementors – the – "

"But you survived it too, and you remained strong and loyal..."

_Strong. Loyal. Strong and loyal. Strong and loyal and beautiful. And always _precocious_. _"Now...but now...I _hate_ him. I want to teach him a lesson. When he comes out of prison, he will do well to watch his step around me."

She became conscious of the fact that although she was still blinded, the pain seemed to have abated. She heard footsteps strike the parquet floor, and then fade as her master's boot trampled on the rug, then on her hair.

"You may have your flaws, Bella, but you always were my favourite," he said.


	16. Scène finale

_**A/N: Lo and behold, the final chapter, where Bella continues to babble to herself, and where I open with quotes (because JKR did so too)  
**_

_What's this? what's this?  
A rhyme I learn'd even now  
Of one I danced withal.  
**(W. Shakespeare)**_

_Dance till the stars come down from the rafters  
Dance, dance, dance till you drop.  
**(W.H. Auden)**_

* * *

Chapter 16: Scène finale

She could hardly breathe as she watched the jet of green light burst from her master's wand, overwhelming not only Potter, but the caster himself. As the Dark Lord fell backwards, she flew to his side, kneeling down, bringing herself close enough for him to feel her breath on his face.

"My Lord... _my Lord..._"

He opened his scarlet eyes. "That will do," he said, as she gasped with relief.

The others who had followed her backed away – Yaxley, Dolhov, Avery, Rookwood and Rabastan (Rodolphus had been incapacitated by a Weasley brat about nine months ago, leaving him with a limp), but Bella remained on her knees, even as the Dark Lord began to stand up.

"My Lord, let me—"

"I do not require assistance," he said, brushing her aside, preoccupied. "The boy...is he dead?"

Bella rose, ready to examine Potter's corpse, but her master had other ideas. "You," he said, pointing his wand at the unworthy Narcissa. "Examine him. Tell me whether he is dead."

Narcissa did as she was told, and turned around and announced, "He is dead!"

Bella forgave—forgot—her sister, for that space that had kept Bella from her master had now been indeed obliterated. Killed. Was quickly decomposing before their eyes. That hateful half-blood, _Harry Potter_. She joined in with the rest of her fellows, shooting fireworks of red and silver into the black night.

_Silver_—_the blood of purebloods born!__  
Black_—_the dark of ages past!  
__Red_—_a world about to dawn!  
Black_—_the night that ends at last!_

After her master had cast a hard-earned Cruciatus on the body, the corpulent half-breed, Rubeus Hagrid, was made to carry it up to the castle.

But Hagrid would soon surprise her – out of all the mudbloods and blood-traitors, he would be one of the few intelligent enough to show a hint of obedience. How she laughed when the Longbottoms' son bleated, "I'll join you when hell freezes over! Dumbledore's Army!", heralding a final, desperate attempt by their side. Their retaliation was inelegant and uncoordinated, as wizards and witches, along with a motley of magical creatures, swarmed through Hogwarts.

Bella and the Dark Lord fought their way into the centre of the fray, where they were confronted by Minerva McGonagall, Horace Slughorn and Kingsley Shacklebolt. "Leave them to me," said her master.

But she would show him. She singled out three witches about fifty yards away: Weasley's mudblood, Potter's blood-traitor and Longbottom's freakish girlfriend. She would have the pleasure of finishing off Potter's first...

"NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!"

Bella could hardly believe her eyes. _This_ would be easy; standing in front of her now was nothing more than a frazzled housewife with frizzy red hair. The mother of seven – now six – children. More comfortable duelling with an oven than another woman. She would be no match for Bella, born and raised a warrior, her hair black and glossy. Those plump, rounded limbs would be no match for Bella's slim, sleek ones, primed and toned by years of fighting.

Bella could have fun now – she could afford to pull back with a Clostridius Curse. The Weasley woman sent back a Helicopylori Hex.

Bella snarled. _So you DO want to play dirty with me! Who would have thought that you would even _remember _the content of your Defence OWL? With all those children addling your brains..._

The tiles of the floor cracked, glowing red-hot beneath them.

"What will happen to your children when I've killed you?" Bella swirled her satin-lined robes around her, and sneered at the patches on Weasley's sleeve. "When Mummy's gone the same way as Freddie?"

_What are _you_ fighting for, woman? Your children? And what am _I_ fighting for? I'm fighting for the emperors and empresses of our world! How can your cause compare to mine?_

"You—will—never—touch—our—children—again!"

Bella looked into the face of her opponent. She laughed at the lines framing the woman's eyes and mouth.

_How many times had the Dark Lord commended her on regaining her pre-Azkaban looks? Her dark lashes, her smooth skin, her fine eyes..._

And then it hit her.

Her muscles began to seize up.

She felt her lungs start to spasm.

She lost her balance.

Out of the corner of his eye, her master must have been watching her, for as her eyes wildly scanned the crowd, they found him watching her with horror. In her last moments of consciousness, remnants of a song she had recently heard sprang up.

_From this moment, I have been blessed—I live only for your happiness—And for your love, I'd give my last breath—From this moment on__—_

Voldemort let out a cry of anguish, but it brought one final smile to her face.

"_You did love me after all_," she thought. "_And now, we shall share the sky, you and I," _she thought. _"I the Warrior Maiden, and you…_"

A snippet from her days in the library with her sisters finally returned to her: of another maiden, speaking of her one true love.

_Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die,  
Take him and cut him out in little stars,  
And he will make the face of heaven so fine  
That all the world will be in love with night  
And pay no worship to the garish sun._

_Fin._

* * *

**_A/N: Thanks to the musicians who wrote lyrics for Bella to corrupt – Schönberg and Boublil (Les Miserables rocks!) and Shania Twain (Ah, I remember the 90's!).  
_**

**_Seven amazing months it's been. From a short fic I started on a whim, inspired by a favourite orchestral piece and a friend's birthday...to this novella. I thought I was going to have trouble getting 10,000 words out about Bella and Tom. It just goes to show, you never really know what you can do until you actually do it._**

**_A huge thank-you to everyone who reviewed! I would also like to thank those who added this story to their favourites: _**BlackFlamingoCrash, CubanSombreroGal, DruellaBlackRosier, I.am.so.sick., Impromptu1135, LilyCrab, Nulinya, Rissika, SaintRidley, Schermionie, Syndic-Machiavelli, T1n4 K4z4m4, WhiskeyTangoFoxtrot, covetessness, freshwaterplimpies, lyssy31, madratter, nighteyes00, respitechristopher and sweet-dreamrose!**_  
_**

**_And I want to express my gratitude to those who are watching me on Author Alerts: _**13-lucky-charms, bmdohmen, brilliantblonde, Calary, Cell4, CubanSombreroGal, dancingirl28843, DT-RH-JA-JB, HermioneRose, JustLexie, Lexie-H, MistressPol, mrslaura, NaughtyLittleSausage, SaintRidley, ShadowMoonDancer, shdurrani, sweet-dreamrose, vash65 and WhiskeyTangoFoxtrot!

_**Danse Macabre has been nominated for "Best Romance Fic" at **_**The Reviews Lounge Reviewer's Choice Awards 2008 **_**(link on my profile). If you've enjoyed this story, please vote for me!**_


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